


Master

by hauntedpoem



Category: Noblesse (Manhwa)
Genre: M/M, Mad Scientist, troubled Frankenstein
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 06:31:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3371351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedpoem/pseuds/hauntedpoem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Madness, Frankenstein and a very special stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Master

**Author's Note:**

> Published: 07-04-2012, Updated: 07-04-2012  
> Enjoy!

Frankenstein entered the laboratory with an impenetrable look on his face. The blond tresses had to be tied up because now he had even more work on his hands. What he discovered, or rather what fate brought to him was nothing short of amazing. He could swear that this individual was far beyond any noble he had experimented upon. This one came willingly. He just sat there and let himself be taken into the decrepit laboratory.

He had to pinch himself to dispel the thought of it being a dream. He shouldnʼt get too excited about it. He had t manifest it? Ito keep his cool and not let his excitement manifest into a frenzy. The new subject was exquisite. This one was the discovery of his life. He felt like a butterfly getting closer to a flame. The tall, dark haired man with a very elegant posture just let himself be dragged down the labyrinthine corridors of Frankenstein's castle. He didnʼt even flinch and moved with self-confidence. Frankenstein didn't even bother to tie him up.

It wasnʼt a struggle, it was an offering and Frankenstein was more than grateful for it.

How deign the man comported himself! How… fascinating!

He approached the chair that the man occupied, cross legged and serene. His eyes rested on the fireplace and then roved over the room. Was it that he had no clue that he was… his capture, his prey? He sure didnʼt behave appropriately. He didnʼt scream and didnʼt convulse in straining ties. He didnʼt even move from that chair. It was as if he wanted to be there.

Frankenstein could consider himself a monster but the thought was even more hurtful when he looked at this noble. There was too much beauty, too much tranquility. He didn't as much as flinch or defend himself in front of the menacing blond. And yes, he was a monster, judging by the human standards. The darkness and the madness engulfed him once again, so he was gone into the darkest pits and cellars of the castle and left that radiant being there. He couldnʼt do it this time… no, he could not. As if that noble reminded him of his sins. Their cries echoed. He had sold his soul to the devil for knowledge although there was no devil. He created one himself.

Qualms…

What good could come from this? He should continue.

He should.

No… this one… was he laughing in his face?

Was he?

In the frigid air of the dark dungeon, Frankenstein crawled away from madness and started hitting the rough wall to ease his temper. It was becoming too much. That side of him that took over and brought him closer to power, closer to genius, closer to heaven… but this heaven was madness and the God that he wanted to create out of man became nothing but a sad fiend.

A beautiful, deceptive monster.

He threw himself into the inky black. He stared and analyzed it only to be stared back. With unknowing eyes. That dark aura… and what was he doing? He had a captive to take care of.

He will be taken care of.

When he opened the door to the nicely lit and warm room that confined the stranger, Frankenstein's eyes were lit with the spark of a new resolution. This find was too good to be ignored.

The noble stood by the window looking at the scenery below. Snow was falling over another thick white layer. The whiteness was blinding and it resonated along the chimes of an old church bell far away… far away…

His whole being wasnʼt there. Just a body, just a presence, but this strangerʼs mind was on a different realm. Just then, he turned to face Frankenstein, an unreadable expression on his face. Frankenstein rolled his sleeves and looked. He was patient. He could wait.

Whoever this one was… he will be respectful of such a rare offering.

The strangerʼs eyes pierced his. They shone red, a sign that he was indeed not human, not mere flesh and blood. His delicately chiseled face was partially obstructed by the obsidian buff of his locks. As he turned his neck to the left, the hair moved softly allowing the blond man to see a nicely crafted earring. A dark, silvery cross.

The stranger seemed to be very fond of it for he fondled it carefully as if it was a habit of his while deep in thought. However hard he has tried, Frankensteinʼs mind couldnʼt reach his. As if… oh, but added to the fascination. He had no idea what his motives were… why did he come here knowing full well what mad scientists like him did. From reviving dead bodies to experimenting on children. Grotesque.

For a split second, the eyes gleamed ruby red but then they settled into a burning dark rust. He exhaled. As if he waited for something. The chimes continued to assault Frankensteinʼs ears. He dared to look but chastised himself every time his icy blue stare found the strangerʼs. He knew he could ask him, but…no… he felt it was beneath his abilities, so the genius just kept staring and waiting.

Then, the stranger moved. He took out his dark velvety coat and placed it over the chair that he had previously occupied, only to sit again with his back turned at Frankenstein. It wasnʼt as if Frankenstein was a host of sorts. No… he was a man looking for something new for his experiments. Science. Knowledge. Sterility and immortality. This is what he was searching for.

Something as spotless as the room the stranger occupied. The soft plush of the expensive chairs, the crystal windows allowing the light to pour in generously, the warmth, the cherry furniture, the impressive stack of books that adorned a small marble table and the comfort of the linen under their feet were just signs. They just showed a man with a penchant for luxury and comfort, a very intelligent man. It was a place where life could begin, but a masquerade that sat above dark corridors and cold tiles, above chains and cages, above gruesome and deadly instruments. Torture and death was beneath. Knowledge and beauty was above.

How strange… yet alluring.

For a second, the scientist wanted to touch that white clad shoulder. No… this went beyond fascination. Those hands… they seemed to have never touched anything. They were so fragile and white, those shoulders, even though they were masculine and broad were not revealing someone who fought, ever. Did he love peace? Was he a hermit living somewhere above them all? The long legs, stretching with toned muscles and drawing the whole portrait with coherence only to be surprised by a shadow of darkness that shone over the shoulders he momentarily admired. His hair, it was… valuable. Frankenstein was in awe but bravery and humanity won after all, because in a split second his hands were tangled in that dark softness.

And then, then he cried. Because as he touched, he could feel it, the lack of resistance, the gift he has been given. Frankenstein was granted silent permission after all, because he moved closer only to stroke at the black locks with gentleness he thought he wasnʼt capable of. And he sobbed. Pathetic. Still a human. A genius nonetheless, but a human who just found power and relished in it with abandonment. Like an animal, he couldnʼt escape his raging wants and needs, the nightmare of mortality.

But the godly creature seated in the chair below him didnʼt tell him to stop, didnʼt even move. He did nothing. It was surreal and the blond man had to take a bow and get closer because he couldnʼt let this slip. He wouldnʼt allow it to fade. It was as if the moon was in his hands, and it returned the same beautiful light that he used to see from his dingy window as a child.

His breath hitched and he warmed up the pale neck shown by the parted hair. Beautiful… yes… his thoughts were screaming in his mind, but he couldnʼt let them out. He would crumble. Like a sand castle.

 _Is this real? Is any of this existence real at all? Because if it is…_ but the thoughts had to stop. He was more than sure that the stranger knew everything he was thinking. He didnʼt let it out but Frankensteinʼs gut feeling told him know so.

How hopeless has he become? Yes, very, because he touched and almost… almost… humanely kissed the white marble neck of this deity.

He stopped. Only the silence was screaming reason into his ears, leaving a hideous ringing fill his mind and the stranger just turned his head, slightly yet surely.

The striking soft visage has turned expectingly. They were eye to eye and Frankenstein couldnʼt help but letting it out.

"Perfect," he said. He uttered like the miserable human he was. "Perfect", he dared. He dared to break the absurd stillness. He violated the pact. Why? Because despite his genius and his strive towards what was almost godly in his eyes, he could still recognize some drifting specks of uncertainty. Emotions… his useless emotions. His teary cobalt eyes, his trembling lower lip, his regretful stare, the blond tresses that escaped the tie… he was just human in the end.

The strangerʼs gaze was hypnotizing. Mysterious dark eyes with a red wine burnish in their irises regarded him with melancholy, almost. But he didnʼt cringe like the others did. He did not back off. No, not this one. If fortune favored the brave, then Frankenstein would be a very lucky man. He stole the chance and got closer to it. Somehow, he let his fears behind and his lips were touching the otherʼs. It was a drop of eternity and truth in all the past mistakes because he felt so lonely. Mad and secluded from the world. Tasting that skin and breathing above it, his chest constricted painfully at the sensation of lust that coursed through his insides because he wanted to feel everything.

Those perfect dark eyes shut closed and allowed him entrance. His mind was a maelstrom of rogue thoughts. Carnal desire and pure agony reached through because he almost threw himself in the strangerʼs lap. His golden hair escaped the prison of the band that was holding it in a pony tail and now Frankenstein was crying and flushed as sensitive parts rubbed other sensitive parts. A body was still a body, after all. His heart beat like mad in the ribcage. He wished and he waited and wanted to feel.

 _"I havenʼt felt this was about anyone and anything. Want me, as I want you… only if."_  The pleas in his mind were being answered with a hand placed on his cheek, drying crystalline tears that were hot and shameful. They marred. They stained the perfect silk that covered his lustful body. He felt desired, because the stranger pulled him closer and gasped as their needs collided. Two different worlds, two different genes two different species. Under his skin was only desperation.

Behind that piercing and glorious gaze could be seen the eternal loneliness that doomed this strangerʼs life. What kind of noble was he? The first one touching him without intending harm. One who could save him from that darkness that pulled at his mind and tarnished his genius into crime. Could he save him? But the kiss that followed was so wet that couldnʼt provide an answer. This man had a heart and it beat as strong as a fist into a wall, crushing it to pieces. Only debris and ashes left behind. A small stop for breaths allowed him to clear his mind.

"You… you… you are… you are perfect…"

He had to consecrate them into the otherʼs mind. He had to let him know once again his true intentions, because he rose up and took his hand as gracefully as he was able to, a pale lily that fit so well with his. He led him like one would lead royalties to their boudoirs. And the stranger followed. The tall white doors opened to reveal another room. Darkened by heavy velvet draped over the windows. He lit the candles and he turned to find him already occupying the unrestrained bed. His posture was deign as always. He was waiting for an invitation.

Wine poured in thin crystal glasses that stood high on their tall legs. The crimson stained the glass in silky thickness and he handed it to the stranger. He drank admiring the taste on his tongue. A brow raised questioningly and Frankenstein was drawn in and kneeled down at his feet to take the half emptied sparkling glass from the otherʼs hand, only to feel it pressing firmly at his lips. He was feeding him wine and Frankenstein gulped, trying to keep up with the brisk movement. He almost suffocated, his breath hitching superbly when that pale hand pulled him up by his cravat. Quite harshly so he was now so dizzy he had to support himself on the otherʼs strong body.

That kiss alone could bruise and Frankenstein mewled, debasing himself even further as he pushed his crotch into the otherʼs linen clad thigh. He panted whorishly as the other eyed him hard with a rich gaze. Uncondescending yet merciless. His blood was boiling, his heart was burning. Galloping like a wild horse chased by the wolves in the dark, dark forest. He was spurred further when his body was forcefully turned and their positions changed.

Breaking under, opening his mouth under the crushing red. His arousal was strained and painful under the otherʼs weight. The cravat was torn from around his neck and his dress shirt strangely fell disrobing him even further. He thought he would die if he wouldnʼt be appeased then and there. The blood was almost bubbling and the pain was terrible. So was the pleasure. And for a second a stray thought crept into his brain. What if this was his end? Was that blood magic? Because it surely felt so.

The manʼs expression was appealing yet unreadable. He looked beyond the mere flesh, that beautiful flesh, and straight into the depths of his tarnished soul, as if trying to extract it from the darkness that nursed him to power. Frankenstein couldnʼt even open his mouth to mutter a stop, because the white and pure hands were now softly touching his chest. It was the most erotic thing he has ever felt, as if the other manʼs sole purpose was to drive him mad with sensory overload as his crotch was suffering the fiery friction of the strangerʼs body. If he were to die, he would gladly die now.

Then… the stranger just stopped. As if he remembered something, he pulled away and straightened himself. Elegantly, he stood and looked at nothing in particular, above the blondʼs head. He was left alone, there, a petal pink body half naked on the black satin bed. Was he being rejected?

 _No… no…_ he could not… _no_ … he preferred death to anything like this. This was his salvation, the sun that cast the shadows over his heart far, far away.

The stranger was now completely dressed, his coat back on, elegantly falling over his beautiful shoulders. And it was so wrong that he couldnʼt move from that state of stupor. It hit him so hard.

_No... No... No…_

_I would die… I want to be dead but not without you. There is nothing left inside me but you… youʼre the only perfect one._

_No… no… no…_

His mind was functioning at full speed now that the stranger was growing apart. But he couldnʼt accept such loss. He could not give up. He would sell his soul to every known devil only to see him again… no... No… no…

And his back turned. Frankenstein was now practically crying his eyes out, his body still aching and not listening to him. Mind control? _Please… no… donʼt leave…_

He couldnʼt even get up. As if he were glued there by the most powerful magic. The stranger left the room and he writhed over the black sheets in desperation. Is this how they felt? The slaves? The experiments? Yes… that might be true… he tried repeatedly to kill his heart and his emotions that he has forgotten how to react. But instincts were still powerful.

_No…_

By sheer force of will he escaped the invisible chains that held him there. He ran until he reached the small room with the fireplace and then he was struck frozen on his feet.

The stranger sat there, facing him on the plush red chair as if nothing has ever happened.

Frankenstein didnʼt have a mirror but he knew he was looking fraught and so… so… human. He threw himself to the ground and on his fours he crawled until his lips could kiss the stranger's feet.

His feverish touches, the hot pearls escaping his eyes and tearing at his vision, the cold fragrance of the other's attire drove him insane. He smelled of winter and nothing more, as if he was as unreal as a specter in front of his eyes.

He buried his face in the dark haired man's thigh and kissed along with trembling lips.

"M-master," he muttered as if in pain. "Master," he gasped." Forgive me. I beg of you, forgive me."

_Why do I feel like dying?_

All that was left from the world around Frankenstein were those dark eyes, lustrous with a coating of deep, dark red. They reminded him of the blood that pooled and darkened under the laboratory's tables. Dark, venous blood. He looked and looked allowing himself to feel like the dying ones.

Circling and spiraling in the deep gaze with desperation.

Something inside him has died. And he couldnʼt mourn it.

And he felt himself slipping away into nothingness, collapsing at his god's feet.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and passing by!  
> Comments and kudos are duly appreciated!  
> :)


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